Dave felt strangely light of heart as he made his way towards the Winsconsin Bridge and his inevitable death. He was warm and smiling and the world didn't seem so bad, almost as though he was drunk. Two decades of pain was about to end, and he felt almost excited, like the last day of school. This time he was alone, though, but he had plenty of distraction. All the light and noise of traffic and people. And he'd got to see New York before he died, so there was a clear improvement of how he expected to perish. He never thought he'd even leave his home town, let alone Australia and yet here he was globe-trotting.
Perishing on a foreign island, never to be heard from again like some forgotten pirate.
"And if I could go back and make my amends, I'd make all those mistakes again!"
He laughed and began to sing happily as he crossed the lights following the signs to the bridge, his head filled with the energetic bitterness of some old thrash metal. The pain didn't seem to bug him now. He might as well have been drunk.
"Though you see me now, the mere ghost of a man, I once had the heart of a lion!
Commanding my ship between many a shore, the old Jolly Roger a-flying
Mine was a name that put fear into men, and regret into plenty of lasses!
Lo, how I wish I could take back those days as I stare at these empty beer glasses!"
Dave laughed, all but skipping to the guitars and accordions only he could hear.
"Life has many pleasures and we had our fill, of food and of wenches and beer!
When we tired of the port or had drunken it dry, the time to set sail had come near!
And for what? We heed no law, the other man suffers so we can have more
And for what? We lived every day, the noose of the hangman a hairsbreadth away!"
Oh yes. Tonight was a good day to die.
"And if I could go back and make my amends, I'd make all those mistakes again!"
-x-x-x-
Clutching Dave's coat to her in-a-word-awesome chest, Max sprinted up the stairwell to the level above her apartment. Caroline was on her heels, her long legs giving her the gait of a panicked giraffe. "Much as we like her, Max," she was saying, "is Sophie really the best person to help with a possible suicide?"
"Come on, she's from Poland!" Max replied over her shoulder. "From what Sophie says, it was like growing up in The Day After. If anyone knows how to deal with suicidal despair, it's her."
"Yes!" agreed Caroline, wide eyed and clearly not actually agreeing. "By eating cupcakes!"
"She also has a street directory!"
"Oh, why couldn't we just google maps?" Caroline wailed as they reached the door.
"Because," Max replied, marshalling the ultimate argument, "someone only just now raised that suggestion."
Caroline blinked, nodded, and took out her phone and began to tap at the screen in a panic.
Max brought her knuckles against the door four times, trying not to think of someone buried alive banging on the inside of a coffin (an image which usually brought a smile to her lips, especially if it was a hipster). "Sophie! It's Max and Caroline! It's urgent!"
There was a muffled moan from the other side of the door.
Max held up a warning finger before Caroline could speak. "We can do the 'is she coming?' 'sure sounds like it' stuff later, when it will be funny and we don't have a death on our consciences."
"Good plan," Caroline agreed, fiddling with her phone.
The door swung inwards to reveal a sweaty, exhausted looking Nigel who had clearly dressed in a hurry. So much of a hurry he was only wearing his T-shirt. Upside down, with his legs stuck through the neckhole and one of the sleeves. His hair looked like he'd been greased and then electrocuted more than once, while his ribs showed the telltale bruises that were often the battle scars Oleg bragged after a good night.
"Oh. Hey." Nigel peered at them, as if he was trying to remember which nostril to focus with. "Soph's a bit tied up. I think lube is required, to be honest. Seriously, anything will do. Even olive oil, at this juncture would be..."
Max looked incredulously at Caroline. "I don't believe this. This is even less useful than I already thought."
"Ah, Maxoline!" Nigel grinned, wiping an unidentifiable substance from his eyes. "I don't want to sound cliched, but I've just had so much sex I need a blood transfusion and this could be a hallucination. So, with that in mind, you up for an orgy?"
"Nigel," Caroline pleaded, cradling her mobile as if at prayer. "We think Dave's going to kill himself!"
Nigel yawned. "It's a day with 'e' in it. Of course he's going to do it. The loser's just out for attention. Trust me, he tried to slash his wrists with a tomato once. He's just trying to get you in his pants. Or visa versa. Which neatly brings me back to the orgy question...?"
Max turned away. "Okay, find the quickest way to the bridge and get ready to run!" she told Caroline.
Nigel ogled the two definitely-lovers scramble away from him. Then he frowned. "Hey, why have you got Dave's coat?" he called.
Max shouted over her shoulder. "He said I could keep it!"
Nigel's face crumpled, as if each individual muscle suddenly went on strike. "Wait for me! I'm coming too!" he roared and, bundling his trousers under his bare, cream-whip-spattered arm, he threw himself after the others.
x-x-x
"Williamsburg, not Wisconsin," Dave tutted, but couldn't help but smile at Max's prank.
Still, whatever the bridge he'd still found it. Dave hadn't actually been on many major bridges - this one was like a larger, steampunk version of neo-futuristic Anzac Bridge he often traversed back home in Australia. He supposed the Williamsburg won out on the intricacy of the design, the old-fashioned yet reassuringly crude structure, not to mention those suspension coils big enough for people to walk down without steps. He'd often boggled at that sight in comics and on TV, certain any normal human being would slide down or off the edges to their doom.
"There's an idea," he mused.
It'd be quite an experience to stroll along the top of those things. It didn't matter if he fell or not, and who cared if the police saw him? He'd seen enough of America to know one suicidal Australian tourist wouldn't grab their attention. He doubted Kylie Minogue doing a striptease would even merit their notice. He paused to imagine that image, and found it oddly unsatisfying.
Oh well.
Idly wondering what the bridge would look like in daylight, Dave plodded along the path towards the nearest pylon.
x-x-x
Caroline rode Chestnut as fast as she dared, given he was carrying both her and Max but also Nigel. Nigel had, with less ceremony than Oleg could have managed, to strip naked and re-dress himself in the stairwell. They could easily see why Nigel had such a high opinion of himself, but frankly it didn't really make up for his personality. That said, Nigel was certainly showing some kind of empathy for the first time since they'd met him.
He hadn't tried to grope either of them - despite ample opportunity as he clung to Max and she clung to Caroline.
As they reached a street corner and waited impatiently for the traffic to disperse or the lights to change, Nigel looked around wildly. "His mum made him that coat. Literally, with her own hands. Gave it to him right before the whole 'combine harvester' incident. I mean, she's still alive and all, but she was never the same after that. Autopsy surgeons wouldn't be able to prise it from his hands." He let out a shuddering breath. "This is like the pin taken out of a grenade."
"Surprised you care," Max retorted, still searching for any glimpse of Dave.
Nigel was outraged. "You've known me for less than a day. A little less judgmental."
"We saw enough," snapped Caroline. "That was hardcore emotional bullying you were doing!"
Nigel scowled. "Never said I'm perfect. I never state the obvious." He grinned, then sagged. "Dave is a whiny self-hating loser, but I owe him a lot. Certainly enough to stop him jumping off a bridge. And the whole Phoebe thing is the one thing in life I can use on him to shut him up when he's going on about what a huge failure I am. I have feelings too, you know!"
"After a night with Sophie? I'm amazed you're still conscious."
"Yeah, she showed me her spice rack. I bet my urine sample would have a fortune in street value right now."
The lights changed and Caroline drove Chestnut to the other side of the street.
"Now, I might have laid it on a bit heavy tonight," Nigel continued, "but Dave's berzerk button is a wierd thing. He knew Phe all his life, she was practically his sister - of course she'd never bang him. But she got him to deliver those triplets, not me. I got to hold her hand and I still don't have full sensation in my ring fingertip..."
They paused and glanced down an alleyway. No sign of him.
"The thing about Dave is that he's got intimacy issues. Well, you would if you fancied your own sister. Not that she was his own sister. Which is ironic, as I've been trying to bang my own sister for ages. Anyway, he falls in love, but he never acts on it. It's like instead of a libidio, he sets off this suicidal bomb thing. Freaking prima donna."
"So you're saying Dave's doing this because he's fallen in love?" asked Caroline, trying to keep up mentally and physically.
"You betcha, sweetcheeks," Nigel retorted. "He found an incredibly attractive and wonderful person to fall in love with who would never do the squelchy with him, decided there was no point living any more since he'd obviously never have them and went straight to Suicide Leap!" His tone darkened. "Either of you girls care to guess who he fell head over heels for since he got to New York?"
Max looked at Caroline with something approaching fear. "Dave's in love with Han?" she asked hopefully.
x-x-x
Dave's feet were starting to hurt, a dull heat burning inside his soles with each step. He was also feeling a slight friction burn on his inner thigh as the material of his trousers rubbed his leg raw. Still, he wouldn't live long enough to suffer much, or the indignity of having to massage antiseptic cream into such an intimate area. In fact, he was beginning to worry he was off schedule. He had to hurry if he wanted to see dawn break. Already the murky sky seemed to be lightening slightly.
Of course, knowing his luck, the smog would blot out the sunrise.
In the meantime he had traversed the length of the Williamsburg Bridge and was now heading back down the other side, trying to find a pylon not blocked by lots of chain-link fences and keep out signs. He'd assumed it would be piss-easy to get through and up to the top of the building, but no. This much-less-famous-than-Brooklyn bridge seemed to have too much security. Surely no one normally jumped from here? They saved that for the Golden Gate Bridge.
Dave frowned. He knew it was called that for a reason, not that it was golden-coloured. He'd forgotten.
And he'd never know the answer, unless it came back to him in the next few minutes.
He'd die totally ignorant.
Like a cloud of exhaust fumes, the tugging desire to throw this all away and go back to normal clung round him. No, he told himself firmly. I can't go back. I've got nothing to go back to. I don't even know where Andrew and Nigel are. I've said goodbye to Max and Caroline, and the knowledge they're happy is the best thing on offer.
He made his way to the next pylon. It was, like all the others, sealed off completely.
Dave swore. This stupid bridge was designed to be impossible to die on. Even the pedestrian and bike paths on either side of the railway were sealed inside bright red cages. Nothing larger than breadcrumbs could possibly stand a chance of plunging to their doom. And just when Dave's thoughts were about to suggest that maybe this was the universe somehow trying to persuade him to stay alive, he found it.
A triangular chunk of the mesh had been torn away from an upper section of cage.
It would be a slightly awkward clambering through, but perfectly possible. Even for someone as completely unfit and unathletic as Dave. He could squirm through there in an undignified fashion. At least then there wasn't a bunch full of girls his own age watching with a mixture of pity and contempt as he failed to climb a rope.
Right. Watch the sunrise, then take a long crawl through a short fence. Or words to that effect.
Dave looked around, waiting for day to break. He found himself whistling a sad sea shanty-like tune by the late rock star.
"There are no more tales to be told..."
Hang on, he thought. Is this facing the sunrise? It sinks in the west, so it has to be the east to see the sun. Is this east side? If this is the west side, I won't see a sodding thing. But if I go to the other side, I might miss it. And on the other hand, if I go to the other side, I definitely won't have a handy jumping off point. And no guarantee of a sunrise either way!
"No more stories from battles of old..."
Screw this. No one's around. Might as well skip to the end.
"Now, it seems our journey has come to an end..."
Dave put his hands against the frame, braced himself and pulled his weight up towards the hole in the fence.
"...we are scraping the barrel, my friend!"